UNKNOWN SOLDIERS: Reliving WWII in Europe

in while we were there, dropping more or less down the length of the wadi. The lieutenant then called the roll as apparently he did following each barrage the Jerries had been laying in every half hour or so day and night. They were a cool lot all right. We didn’t linger for more than the brief amenities and the info we came for. They were London Irish Rifles of the Black Cat Division.

On the way over there we went past this British gun emplacement that was right behind this house and had to crawl along some ditches and dash across some open spaces, and when we got pretty close to their command post some Limey says “Git down! There’s a sniper aboot!” This old boy with a handlebar mustache was their commander, the London Irish. They got in some new replacements that looked like a bunch of Boy Scouts in their overcoats, awkward kids that didn’t know what it was all about, and they’d been shelled in there and didn’t know who they had or who’d got hurt. They were calling the roll off a roster. He told an orderly to get some tea for us. And then we talked business. We showed ’em the map, and they told us their situation.

But when we came back past that gun emplacement the house was flat, and some of the British were still there, some no doubt wounded. They’d emplace their guns on high places instead of defilade as we did, and of all places to put a gun, behind that house. The Germans just flattened it, and they acted like, “What happened? What do they mean, throwing fire in on us? What do they want to play that way for?” You could just assume that their party was going to end pretty quick, because when we went up there they were firing away, having a big time throwing lead at the Germans, and when we got back there it was over.²⁶

Jim Dowdall:

When we established that we were Americans and not Germans the commander was giving some o’ the men hell for not shavin’. There was a stream at the bottom o’ this glen, and they had captured a badly wounded German and made him as comfortable as possible, but he was dying. While Griff was talking to the officer about where our position was, and trying to get theirs and where their machine guns were set up, we were back talking with the privates. One was Scottish and the other English, and had an argument about who had the better whisky. They asked me—they knew I was Irish somehow—which is the better? I said the English have the better ale but the Scots the better whisky. By God, they were delighted at that Solomon’s answer!

One night soon after, Dilks drove Mickey Smith on a mission to check out probably the same London Irish and was impressed.

We stopped and hid the jeep behind some old half blowed-out building and went up on foot, ’cause at night you couldn’t use it much. They had about ten rounds of ammunition and no big gun support. All they had was bayonets. They were jest sittin’ there playin’ cards an’ drinkin’, figgerin’ as soon as the Krauts hit ’em they were gonna get killed or captured.

Maybe the same building with the gun. Did we blow their cover when we sprinted across that field (in sight of the enemy as we suspected), and paused at the house before